*** Author's note: This is the continuation of the first part of Ephemera.
I'm shaking after the recollection is over, and my stomach is churning. Yet, oddly, I feel relieved. As long as I hold onto my beliefs and morals, I can feel human. That, along with the knowledge that my family's still alive, keeps me going. It gives me hope that maybe, one day, I will be freed from H.I.D.E and restart my life. Forcing my worries down inside me, I speed off towards the direction of H.I.D.E's headquarters 200 miles away.
I get there two hours later. Although the thickly walled structure is in the middle of a barren, secluded desert, armed guards and patrol vehicles are constantly on the lookout. They're used to my presence, though, and let me into the compound. There, I undergo a series of identity checks, ending with a scan of the tracker embedded in my shoulder. I enter the same white room with the two-way mirror to report the completion of my assignment - the elimination of the defect - even though I know the intricate network of H.I.D.E's spies stationed throughout the world had probably confirmed his death long before I arrived. I am quickly dismissed, and I head towards the room where I know the others are waiting.
Yes, others. I'm not the only one H.I.D.E has modified to take on the attributes of another species. But despite HIDE's numerous experiments with hundreds of human children and animal species, only five others survived. We are given numbers based on our performance during missions, and I have risen in the ranks to Number Four in the past two years. H.I.D.E requires us to refer to each other by our codes, not by name, but only Number One upholds that rule. The rest of us have continued using our birth names or nicknames, probably because it's the only means of defiance we have against the organization that had taken our lives. I can't help but wonder if it's also because so few people speak our names, and that we want to cherish the sense of normality we get by hearing it.
I'm greeted by Number Two, Dylan, as I walk into the vast training area we all share. Besides him, there is one other person in the room, which isn't strange, because the six of us are rarely together at once.
"Hi, Raptor. Took you awfully long to finish that task of yours. They must've put up a good fight."
"Shut up, Cobra."
I glower at him. I must look troubled, because he quits the sarcastic jibes and adopts a worried expression, which surprises me. Sometimes I forget that it doesn't take hawk eyes to know what others are feeling.
At 25, Dylan isn't Number Two for nothing. He has beautiful emerald eyes and dark hair, with a lean build, and if you leave it at that, I guess he could be considered quite good-looking. We know better, though. He makes sure to compress his lips when he smiles, and that's because he has two long, hollow fangs where his upper canines should be. These, along with his thin, sharp fingernails, are capable of injecting a deadly venom into his unfortunate victims. Combined with his forked tongue, slitted pupils, and super-fast reflexes, it is easy to see the viper H.I.D.E's scientists have spliced him with.
"Never mind Dylan. Tell me about San Francisco, Skai. What was it like?"
Robby had pattered over me and was now gazing adoringly up at me with those sweet amber wolf eyes of his. Being only 14, he was the youngest of all of us, and the most trusting and compassionate. Perhaps that's why he's Number Six - I can't imagine it's easy for him to follow orders and complete the gruesome missions we're given. The boy's simply too kind, too caring.
"Her home was only on the outskirts of the city, Robby, but I don't think you'd like it. It looks noisy and dirty and the smell would probably be too strong for your nose."
Dylan snorts.
"Yeah, he's treated soooo much better here."
Robby and I ignore him, and, apparently satisfied with my answer, he pulls me over to a treadmill excitedly.
"Look at this, Skai! I hit a new record."
I glance at the figures on the screen. The kid had really outdone himself this time. He'd run 235 miles in 5 hours, with an average speed of 47 mph. Nonstop. Even with the wolf in him lending him stamina and speed, this was pretty impressive.
"That's amazing, Robby. At this rate, you'll be able to keep running longer than I can fly."
"Really? I'll try, I promise!"
His puppyish delight and jubilant energy are contagious, and I laugh and ruffle his hair. All of us love Robby. I've even seen Number One crack a smile at his antics.
My raptor eyes pick up the slight twitch in Robby's nostrils, and from my augmented peripheral vision, I see Dylan snap to attention as his forked tongue tastes the air. I can't help but feel envious as I recall the child's extraordinary sense of smell, and Two's complemented taste and ability to feel even the smallest vibrations through the ground. Between the two of them, they could accurately detect people coming from hundreds of feet away.
"Looks like One's coming," Dylan announces a second later.
Number One. I've only talked to him a few times, but he's my least favorite B.E.A.S.T. His cold yellow eyes contain an intensity the likes of which I've never seen in any other person. Serious and brooding, he emanates an ominous aura. Even Robby, normally so joyful, would be subdued around him.
The heavy door to the training room flies open, cracking against the wall with an echoing bang. Number One's in a bad mood.